Turning Point
by Albert Baker
Summary: Prior to Far From the Brave the squad is on a mission that leads to Grady Long's death.


Turning Point by Albert Baker (Claudia) 2007

No profit. Characters not mine.

_This story occurs prior to "Far From the Brave" and contains two scenes directly from the episode._

Private Braddock searched through the clusters of GIs resting among the ruins of the French village. The exhausted men were strewn about like a child's toy figures, tossed aside in haste. The private looked for the distinguishing characteristics of the man he sought—a camouflaged-covered helmet and sergeant's stripes. He found his objective lying under the torn awning of the mayor's office, helmet pulled down over his eyes. Approaching carefully, Braddock tapped his boot on Sergeant Saunders' and backed away quickly.

"Hey, Sergeant, Lieutenant Hanley wants to see ya!"

Saunders pushed his helmet back, squinting up into the afternoon sun.

"All right, Braddock."

As Braddock went on to locate his next victim, Saunders stood and stretched his arms, trying to get the blood circulating again. A stab of pain from his left shoulder reminded him of the shrapnel that had grazed him when a German grenade had landed a bit too close. Bending down, he picked up his gear and Thompson before beginning his walk to the old bakery building where the CP was located. He arrived within minutes to find Hanley hanging up a phone and shaking his head in disgust.

"Somethin' wrong, Lieutenant?" Saunders lit a cigarette and offered one to Hanley.

"Hi Saunders. No, just the usual." Hanley took the cigarette and looked Saunders over. The sergeant looked tired, but he'd seen him worse. "How's the shoulder?"

"It's all right. Just a little stiff."

Hanley nodded and began unfolding a large map.

"Saunders, we've got information on two German positions outside of town." Hanley spread out the map on the bakery countertop. "The first is here. There are reports the Krauts have a radio setup inside a barn. The other is two miles to the east-- a hill with a bombed out house on top. We think the Germans are planning on using it as an observation post. We're just not sure if they're there yet."

"So First Squad is supposed to take BOTH of these, Lieutenant?"

"First Squad is the only squad that didn't take injuries coming in. The farm is en route to the hill, so it just makes sense to take it and proceed to the house. I'm going along on this one. Maybe you oughtta stay back and give that shoulder a rest."

Saunders bristled. "The whole squad is beat, Lieutenant!"

"Saunders, we've been ordered to go. Tell the men to saddle up and you get some rest."

"I'm fine. You'll need all the men you can get."

Hanley saw the resolve in Saunders' face. "Suit yourself."

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Over an hour of trudging through tall grass and brush brought the squad to a tree line on the edge of a field. In the middle of the field stood a windmill, two of its numerous blades missing. On the other side of the field, a weather-beaten barn stood in solitude; a pile of crumbled stone several yards north of its doors was the only sign of the former house. Lieutenant Hanley signaled the squad to a halt and pulled out his binoculars as Saunders joined him.

"I can make out some movement by the door. It's hard to say how many are in there. Here, take a look."

Saunders grasped the glasses and scanned the area around the barn. "Not much cover, Lieutenant. Maybe if Caje and I crawled through that ditch, we could flank them."

Hanley frowned. "Not now. The sun will be setting soon. The darkness will help."

Hanley turned back to the squad. "We're going to wait until it starts getting dark, then Saunders and Caje will try to flank them on the left. The rest of us will spread out and crawl up through the tall grass. When Saunders and Caje open up, we'll rush them."

Each man found a spot in the trees to shed his gear and contemplate the planned assault. Billy and Littlejohn could be heard whispering.

"I don't know, Littlejohn. It's a long way to that barn without any cover. You think Caje and the Sarge can make it without the Krauts seein' em?"

Braddock made his way over to the two buddies and plopped himself down.

"Caje and Saunders? I'm worried about MYSELF making it!"

Littlejohn shook his head and grinned. "You two need to take it easy. Hanley and Saunders know what they're doin'. Just stay low and you'll be all right."

Billy looked at his large friend with concern. "Littlejohn, how are YOU gonna stay low?"

"Now Billy, it's somethin' how low I can make myself when there are bullets flying over me. Would ya quit worrying?"

Kirby, sitting with Caje off to the left of the group, snickered. "You guys sound like a bunch a ol' ladies."

"Who asked you, Kirby? When did you decide to be brave?" Braddock asked.

Saunders moved in between the two groups like a cat pouncing its prey. "Knock it off! All of you! What are ya tryin' to do, tip off the Krauts before we even move out?"

"But Sarge, he…"

"I don't wanna hear it, Kirby!"

Saunders' words, although said under his breath, might as well have been shouted through a bullhorn. The men grew silent and sullen.

Hanley smiled to himself.

Sergeant Saunders nodded to his lieutenant and walked on to the far end of the tree line.

Grady Long sat alone, with his head leaned back against a trunk, his eyes closed.

"Bet you're wishin' you could have a smoke."

Saunders sat down beside his friend, saying nothing.

"Saunders, I've been tellin' ya since North Africa to stop volunteering to do these crazy stunts of yours, but you're still not listening."

"Can it, Grady."

Grady smiled and looked at Saunders. "You're not foolin' me, Saunders. I know why you do this stuff. You're thinkin' we may all get killed here. You always pull out the heroics when we're in the thick stuff."

"Grady, you talk too much."

The private's voice took a more serious tone.

"Saunders, I got a funny feelin' about this one. I better come with you and Caje."

"Grady, you try to crawl through that ditch with the BAR and you'll get your head blown off. We need you to cover us from back here. Move up slowly as we hit the barn, but that's it!"

"All right, Saunders."

Saunders smiled. "Long, you're startin' to sound like your mom at the train station."

"Ha, she was quite a fright, wasn't she? You'd think I was her only son or somethin'."

"You ARE her only son, Grady."

"Saunders, you never get my jokes, do you?"

Saunders smiled again. He knew that listening to Grady's banter would sooth his nerves and give him that glimpse of 'home' that he craved. Grady Long had grown up not more than twenty miles from Saunders, but they never met until basic training. Not even the reticent Saunders was immune to Grady's easygoing charm and they soon discovered how much they had in common. They had been together in North Africa, but were separated when Saunders was seriously wounded. Two weeks after landing in Normandy, Saunders had been delighted to see Grady assigned to the 361st.

"Saunders." The sound of the lieutenant's voice drew the sergeant's attention.

"Looks like it's time, Grady."

"See ya in the barn, Saunders."

A half moon shown down on the farm field providing a mild wash of light—barely enough to make out the slightly thicker weeds along the ditch. Saunders and Caje crawled silently through the muddy soil, smelling the pungent odor of moist dirt and plants. About 200 feet from the barn, they could hear German voices growing louder, followed by dim lamplight as two sentries pushed open the door and moved outside. Saunders strained to see where each took up position. A broken farm wagon stood on end another 50 feet away. He turned to see Caje studying it.

"I think that's our best bet."

Although he couldn't see the rest of the squad moving up through the grass, Saunders could feel them. He knew they were almost in position, just as he knew Caje would move in unison with him when he made a dash for the wagon. It was a sixth sense born of countless missions and shared trials.

"All right, Caje." Saunders moved out of the ditch and made a crouched run, Caje following silently. As they reached the wagon, a Schmeisser opened up, the impact of its fire blasting chips of wood off the corner of the box.

Saunders' Thompson and Caje's Garand answered and soon the other German sentry joined the firefight. From the field, Hanley bellowed, "Let's move!" and the rest of the squad rushed forward as three more Germans ran out of the barn firing. The steady staccato of Grady's BAR blared in the night, and he felled one of the enemy at the barn's door. A Schmeisser aimed at the sparks from the BAR and Saunders' winced as the BAR became suddenly silent.

Hanley spotted a German lieutenant outlined briefly in the lamplight from the barn and took aim, killing him with a single shot. He saw Saunders break from the wagon, running toward the back of the barn. At the same time, the silent BAR sprang back into action and Hanley breathed a sigh of relief. The gunfire from the squad eliminated two more Germans before the blast from Saunders' grenade ended the fight.

A whistle and barely discernable signal of "all clear" followed a moment of silence. The men rose slowly from their positions, wary of the darkness. It was soon apparent that there were no more live Germans in the barn and the squad moved in, smashing the equipment inside and radioing in their own success.

Grady walked up to the barn slowly, holding his side. Kirby ran to him, a concerned look on his face.

"Here, Grady let me give you a hand."

Kirby grabbed the BAR and helped Grady into the barn, where Saunders was soon by his side.

"Let me take a look." Saunders pulled up Grady's shirt, revealing a five-inch gash across Grady's side where the bullet had grazed him. "Sit down Grady and I'll fix you up." As he applied sulfa powder and a bandage, Saunders checked Grady's ashen face.

"Looks like we're holdin' up here for awhile Grady. Why don't you try to get some rest?"

"Now who's soundin' like my mom, Saunders?"

The sergeant smiled. "You mom's not gonna be too happy to hear about this."

"Well, you better not be plannin' to tell her, cause I'm not! Besides, it was you who coulda got your head blown off makin' that crazy run to the barn!"

"Relax, Long. Your secret's safe with me."

Littlejohn and Billy sat quietly listening to the quiet banter between Long and Saunders.

"You know, Littlejohn, those two are pretty good buddies for being a private and noncom."

"Yeah they are, Billy. They go way back."

"You ever hear them talk about North Africa?"

Littlejohn leaned forward, trying not to be overheard. "Not much, but it sounds like they fought together and that Saunders was hurt bad when Grady was in trouble and Saunders tried to help him."

Billy was wide-eyed. "No kiddin'?"

"That's what I heard."

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The squad spent a chilly but uneventful night in the barn. As morning approached, Grady's eyelids began to flicker and opened slowly. The first thing he saw was the old windmill. It towered, stark and still, over the flat terrain that made up the farm field. All around was the gray fog of dawn. Grady closed his eyes tightly and opened them again, trying to clear his vision. The view remained washed in gray. In the distance was the faint outline of trees bordering the field, the blur of their silvery tops the only objects to match the windmill's height. Slowly, steadily, a dome-shaped golden light rose over the trees, brushing away the fog. As the sun rose further, displaying its full round form, it revealed the true colors of the French landscape. Grady watched, captivated by the scene. His mouth broke into a wide grin.

"Grady, you're the only man I know who can wake up smiling even with a hole in your side."

"Aw Kirby, you gotta appreciate the simple things in life. There's just nothin' like a sunny summer morning."

"Oh brother."

"How is the side, Grady?" Sergeant Saunders had been taking in the scene while checking out a map of the area.

"Aw, it's nuthin', Saunders. Hardly worth wasting a bandage."

"The Lieutenant will be coming back soon. Everybody, grab some chow while you can. Billy, when you're done, go relieve Braddock on security."

"Hey Grady, you're the morning person—how bout you scramble me up some eggs and ham while I sleep in a bit longer?" With those words, Kirby turned on his side and drew his blanket back over his head.

"Sure, Kirby." Grady smiled as he stood. He grabbed a bucket of old feed left in the stall of the barn, and held it over the top section of Kirby's body. "Here ya go—prepared just the way you like it!"

"HEY!!! Kirby threw off his blanket and jumped to his feet, particles of feed flying everywhere, as Grady broke out in guffaws.

The old barn was soon filled with laughter, as Littlejohn and Billy joined in.

"Hey Kirby, let me know if you want seconds," bellowed Littlejohn.

Kirby looked up at 6'2" Grady, indignantly. "Is that any way ta treat the best ammo carrier you've ever had, ya big beanpole?"

"Okay, knock it off and grab some chow, like I told ya."

Saunders smiled to himself. He'd paired Grady, and Kirby with hope that Kirby might pick up some of Grady's good habits. It had worked to an extent—Kirby had become proficient in cleaning and caring for the BAR. He'd come to know Grady's tactics for using the BAR to cover the squad. In fact, Kirby had picked up about everything Grady could teach him about tactics, but in other things, the men were always at odds.

Lieutenant Hanley returned to the barn after a short recon with Caje, and was soon going over a new map with Saunders.

"Collins' men will be moving up here. We need to take the hill so the rest of company can come through. There's bound to be a squad of Kraut's dug in somewhere up there.

How's Grady? He need to go back?"

"He got a pretty good chunk of skin blown out of his side, Lieutenant, but he seems to be doin' ok."

"I'm fine, Lieutenant," Grady chimed in overhearing his name, "It's just a scratch."

"All right, we take off in five."

The squad collected their gear and was soon moving eastward toward the hill thought to hold a German observation post. The sunny morning became dull and grey as thin clouds blanketed the sun. Quiet conversations ended as the men came closer to their destination.

Hanley signaled the squad to halt at the base of the hill. He surveyed the area, disappointed to find that the only cover was provided by tall grass and brush—nothing that could stop a Kraut bullet. Saunders frowned as he arrived at the same conclusion. He pulled out his binoculars and stared up at the ruins of the house on top of the hill. The shards of the building jutted out of the earth like matchsticks. If he hadn't been told this had been a farmhouse, it may not have occurred to him. There was no discernable movement.

"You see anything?" Lieutenant Hanley was surveying the hill with his own binoculars.

"Nothin'. We're not gonna be able to see much without getting closer."

"Looks like there's a pile of brush just to the south of the house. Have Grady take the BAR up there so he can cover us. Then we'll spread out and move up the hill."

Saunders frowned. "Yessir."

The sergeant walked over to Grady with the order.

"Ya see anything up there?"

"No, not a thing. The lieutenant wants you to work your way up to the brush pile south of the barn and cover us. Here, take a look." Saunders handed the BAR man his binoculars.

Grady scanned the top of the hill. "Got it."

Saunders put his hand on Grady's shoulder and looked at his wounded side. "You sure you're up to this?"

"Don't worry, Saunders. I won't do anything you wouldn't do—or is that what you're worried about?" Grady grinned.

Saunders smirked. "I just don't want you to get your head blown off, Long. Your mom would never forgive me."

"It's not getting my head blown off that I worry about. It's those danged mines and what they can do to the family jewels that concerns me."

A wide grin appeared on Saunders' face as he slapped Grady's back. "Take off."

The squad watched as Grady made his way slowly up to the brush pile. Hanley then signaled the rest of the men to move out. Each moved forward, weapons at ready and eyes toward the hilltop.

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Grady studied the remains of the farmhouse. He initially saw no signs of Germans and began to relax slightly, when he heard the clicking of a weapon being loaded. He straightened, straining to see over the rubble without exposing himself. Another sound—a muffled voice, and then the top of a German helmet could be seen above a section of battered wall. Grady decided he needed a closer look and wormed his way slowly toward the farmhouse ruins. As he approached a pile of rubble, he decided he had enough cover to sit up slightly and take another look. It was then that he spotted the machine gun with two Germans manning it.

_Oh shit!_

Grady looked back down the hill and could see Saunders and the squad moving slowly forward. Within seconds, the German machine gunners spotted the Americans and began firing. Grady hesitated for a moment before shaking off his fear and rising to his feet. BAR in hand, he ran forward firing into the machine gun nest. The Germans' momentary hesitation cost them their lives, but not before one managed to start swinging the gun toward the BAR man. The momentum of the deadly gun caught Grady up in its fire, and he gasped as the bullet blasted through his helmet. He took his last breath as he slammed into the earth, his helmet flying off and tumbling down the hillside toward the stunned squad.

Sergeant Saunders' first instinct was to run up the hill to his friend, but one look at the helmet in Hanley's hand told him that Grady would not be going home. His mind launched into a frenzied search for a way to comprehend what had just happened. He looked up at the hilltop and began a determined march to his friend's side. As he reached the summit, he stopped to take in the scene. The two Germans were dead--one slumped over the machine gun and the other on the ground to its right. Grady's body lie twisted on its side. Saunders forced himself to look into his friend's face and turned to walk away as his stomach lurched and his eyes burned. Billy Nelson surveyed the scene and hastily ran behind a crumbling wall, losing his breakfast. Hanley mercifully pulled the blanket from his bedroll and covered Grady's body.

"Braddock, bring me the radio." Hanley called in and turned to the squad standing quietly behind him.

"Collins and his men are on the way. They'll take over here. We are heading back to the village." Hanley stopped and stared down at Grady's body. 'Rig a stretcher. We'll take Grady back with us."

The sky darkened and a steady rain began falling as the squad made its way back to the village. Littlejohn and Caje carried the litter with Grady's body. Billy walked next to Littlejohn as the big private talked to him quietly. Kirby complained about the rain seeping into his boots, but got no response. A pensive Caje watched Saunders' back as the sergeant walked listlessly forward. Hanley stopped as they reached an abandoned house next to church in the center of town.

"We'll bivouac here. Kirby and Billy, take Grady over to the church for now. Caje, come with me. We'll be back in a half hour."

Saunders watched the men drop their gear to the floor and settle in. The accommodations were meager: a single bed in a room off the living area, a table and two wooden chairs in the small kitchen, a torn sofa pushed to the center of the room, already claimed by Braddock.

He dropped his pack and grabbing his rain gear, moved soundlessly out the back door. As he stepped into the pouring rain, he saw Kirby and Billy returning from the church and heading to the front door of the house. He waited for them to go inside and then proceeded to the church door. As he pushed the heavy wooden door open, he heard the ancient hinges groan. The church was dark and cold; the only sound heard was the dripping of water from a leak over the front entrance. The sergeant surveyed the altar area, but found no sign of priest or nun. He turned to his right and stopped suddenly, his eyes fixed upon the sight of Grady's blanketed body lying on the floor of a small doorless room. He felt himself tremble as he moved into the room and slid his back down the wall, coming to a seated position next to Grady.

_After all this time, Grady. You have to go and get yourself killed. What am I gonna say to your mother?_ Tears welled in Saunders' eyes and he closed them to release the droplets. He recognized an agonizing fear creeping into his heart. _Is this how I'll end up? Some buddy staring at my body, blown to bits, wondering what to tell my mother?_

He rubbed his face with his hands, shaking off the thought, refusing to allow the fear to take over_. Grady saved us all by taking out that gun._ Saunders' mind wandered through the years of knowing Grady Long, reliving moments from basic training, walking through the deserts of North Africa, and always back to the easy conversation and laughter that was Grady. A profound sadness engulfed him as he realized how much he would miss his friend. With it came a silent decision, a new cautiousness with his men that would follow Saunders through the remainder of his service.

"Saunders?" A deep baritone voice spoke his name and it echoed gently off the walls of the empty church. The sergeant looked up to see Hanley standing there, water dripping off of his rain jacket onto the stone floor. "We have a grave dug for Grady out in the church yard. We're going to bury him here, until graves and registration catches up."

Saunders nodded and stood slowly. He moved to lift Grady' shoulders, as Hanley lifted his legs. The two soldiers carried the BAR man out into the rain, and with the squad, buried him under a statue in the churchyard. Caje had been given a plain cross by the town undertaker when he and Hanley had gone into the village to obtain permission to put Grady in the churchyard temporarily. He placed it on Grady's grave, crossing himself and whispering a silent prayer.

"He'll be all right here for now," Hanley said to his sergeant.

"Yessir."

The men silently moved away and left Saunders alone in the rain. He pulled his collar together against the cold, the rain, and the sadness. Saunders took one last look at the solitary cross before turning to join his squad.

_Goodbye, Grady._

The End


End file.
